


A Truce

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age 2
Genre: M/M, implied off-screen non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-03
Updated: 2011-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from DAKinkmeme: Fenris has to keep a wounded, delirious, desperate and ashamed Anders from falling asleep while Hawke fetches help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Truce

**Author's Note:**

> This particular prompt spurred a lot of alternate interpretations, and mine is only one of those. Definitely worth seeking out on the meme.

He can't move his feet.

It's strange. Of all the things he should be upset about, Anders is sure there are other things higher on the list. Maybe the stinging pain in his stomach, where he's literally holding himself together, breath coming short and sharp, every inhalation an agony, every exhalation making him dizzy. Maybe the fact that he can't cast any magic to heal himself, because the Templars' seal is in the wrought-iron collar they made him wear and there's no key to take it off. Maybe the salty taste at the back of his throat. But no, it's his feet. They're numb from him being forced to kneel for three days straight. His toes are swollen, red, ugly things. And he can't even wiggle them.

He can't hear Justice, either, not right now. He doesn't rightly know what Justice would say that he isn't already thinking, except maybe something a bit more florid and less filled with oozing pain.

Another breath, and he thinks maybe he can feel his guts slipping out and he wants to weep but he's just too tired to do that anymore. He'd never thought three days could be such a long time. He'd never thought he would be rescued by Hawke and _Fenris_ , of all people, let alone at the last possible second before someone made him Tranquil.

Hawke had been too emotional to get the collar off. No fine precision as he was just now, no matter his usual magical talent. Hawke had been angry on Anders's behalf. The very thought makes his head swim. He lolls to the side and hands steady him.

Oh, right. Fenris is still here.

He can't bring himself to care, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

"No," Fenris says, his tone light, slapping Anders effortlessly with a gauntleted hand. Somehow, he manages to do this with the exact force necessary to jar Anders awake without rattling his skull.

Not that it's any more pleasant for that. He laughs, and then gurgles blood-- his blood, he realizes with some dismay-- until Fenris shifts their positions. Now Anders is cradled in Fenris's lap, with Fenris's hands holding Anders shut for him.

He's not sure how to feel about this.

"You should just let me bleed out," he mutters irritably, mistrusting the elf's kindness. "You'd be happier that way, wouldn't you?"

A strange silence meets his query, as Fenris unexpectedly thinks it over. His voice is low and oddly pleasant, breathy against Anders's ear. "Hawke would not approve. The consequences are hardly worth the satisfaction of no longer hearing your tirades."

He laughs again, and he _really should stop doing that_ because it hurts so badly it makes him want to sob, and then the panic sets in and he can't stop remembering the first night, before they started beating him, the night when they'd forged the collar around his throat and flogged him once he was harmless. Those marks on his back now are scabbed enough he feels them only as a bruise, an itching bruise.

Then Fenris is speaking to him again, curious, contrary. Such a rich and confident voice. Not the voice of a slave at all. "You must not fall asleep, Anders. You are nearly dead already."

"Yes," he hisses, bitterly, blinking away tears. "Yes, nearly dead and soiled and broken like a good little Chantry slave. Bet that makes you happy, doesn't it?" He chokes on his hatred, the collar, regret. Of course he'll die to a stomach wound. Nothing but slow agony would do, would it?

Fenris's voice is stern; too commanding. It's strange how it washes over him, and makes Anders feel ashamed, for once, about his own intentional blindness to the similarity of their plight. "No, mage. Your suffering does not make me happy."

There is a thread of self-discovery here. Fenris sounds almost surprised himself.

And then he repeats those words, his voice twisting with emotion, some memory Anders is not privy to coloring his tone. "Your suffering does not make me happy."

They wait, and Fenris keeps Anders from slipping into sleep or death, and when Hawke returns with Varric and Isabela, they make short work of the collar. The rush of magic returned to him almost sends him into a rage-- Justice _must be done_ \-- but he is already surrounded by the bodies of the dead, and the templars responsible suffered quite a bit going down. Hawke saw to that.

As soon as Anders has healed himself enough to be let go, Fenris does, removing himself from the group as Isabela and Hawke help Anders up, as Varric searches for Anders's missing staff and brings it to him to help him keep his balance.

He catches the elf's eyes, and understands some small part of the emotion lurking there.

Saying thank you just doesn't come naturally to him, so instead he says, "Same to you, for what it's worth."


End file.
